


Revelation

by BeesAreAwesome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Priest Jimmy Novak, Stigmata, Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester, completed work, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/pseuds/BeesAreAwesome
Summary: AU where Castiel chooses Clair as a vessel, Jimmy becomes a priest, and Dean is an atheist stigmatic. And soul mates are very much a thing. Based on the movie Stigmata.This was a secret santa for VampAmber, but since it's now well past xmas, I'm totz outing myself and re-posting non-anonymously :)





	1. Chapter 1

The death of Monsignor Augustine was expected for he was an old man. He had lived a long, pious life within the Society of Jesus and spent his days emulating Christ in all ways as best he could. And at the age of 97, he finally took ill with pneumonia and passed away in the dead of night. Thousands flocked to St John’s Roman Catholic Church to attend his requiem mass, tears in the eyes and hearts of all. Even the virgin wept on his behalf.

Father James Novak knew Augustine well and mourned the loss of such a devout and good man. He was a father in so many senses of the word, a mentor to young James as he entered the priesthood, a guardian and protector. A man who would be sorely missed.

As James approached the casket to pay his last respects, a cool breeze flew through the pews, a smell of jasmine in the air, causing the hundreds of candles lit in Augustine’s honor to sputter and die briefly, though many reignited with new, burning life. James felt it was a last caress from his departed friend, “Don’t cry for me, we’ll see each other soon,” the breeze seemed to whisper.

The young priest fell to his knees before the casket to say a final prayer. Crossing himself, he looked up to the virgin for guidance, but she did not speak. She continued to weep, salty tears became drops of blood, falling down her marble face and staining her gleaming white face and robes.  He suddenly felt her pain, felt seven swords pierce his heart, and wept tears of his own for Mary and her suffering. And then the knowledge that she could grieve, as he did, for the sainted Augustine, sent a warm wave of deep love for God through James’ heart, instantly healing the seven wounds.

He stood, wiping a final tear from his cheek, and turned to walk back down the aisle. As he left the church, a small smile stayed on his lips, knowing that Augustine was now in the arms of the one he loved best. The smell of flowers lingered with him for several hours.

 ---

The following day, father Novak found himself in the small house beyond the rectory that was home to the bishop of the local diocese.

“Jimmy, it’s always good to see you.” A warm hug and friendly pat on the back followed.

“Hello, Padre.” James couldn’t help but smile at the man. He may be his superior in the church hierarchy, but he always made James feel like family.

“Sit! Make yourself comfortable. Whiskey?”

It was rare that James indulged in such things, but he was only human, after all. And since Bishop Lynn was charitable enough to share this precious gift with him, who was he to decline? He graciously nodded and accepted a small tumbler, then sat around the sitting room table with the bishop.

“You know, Padre, Augustine almost roped me into joining the Jesuits, before I became a deacon.” James took a slow pull of the strong smoke and peat flavor, relishing the way the liquid coated his tongue like oil. “It’s times like these that I’m glad I didn’t.”

Lynn smiled at the younger man and agreed.

“Thank God for small mercies…

“Speaking of Augustine, that brings me to why I asked you over this evening. At his requiem mass, where you witness to the virgin’s stigma?”

“I was.”

“And do you believe it to be a hoax?”

“No, Padre. As her tears turned to blood, I felt her seven sorrows pierce my own heart.”

“Where you aware that Augustine himself frequently suffered the wounds of Christ’s passion?”

“No. Well, yes. I knew it happened once when I was first come to the diocese. But I was not aware that it was frequent. Do you think that has anything to do with the weeping statue?”

“It’s possible, Jimmy. There were others in attendance that said they felt a presence with them. Reports of a sudden drop in temperature, flickering lights, and olfactory disturbances.”

“Yes, those things all occurred. Perhaps it was Augustine’s spirit bidding this realm farewell before ascending to Heaven.”

Quite a literal meaning to the term “Holy Ghost”.  James smiled to himself as he finished his glass of whiskey.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up alone with the mid-afternoon sun shining into his eyes through a crack in the blinds. There was a lingering aroma of cheap cologne on his pillow, which brought a small smile to his lips. Last night was awesome. But let’s be real. Most nights were awesome.

Dean got a kick out of his life. It was art, it was sex, it was life lived in hedonism, no regrets, no follies. He tattooed for a living, and though he was young, was in high demand. His watercolor and trash polka styles were on par with masters of the craft who had been at it for decades. The money was great and afforded him a nice Brooklyn loft with quick and easy access to Williamsburg and Bushwick, where all the best action occurred.

And last night, much action occurred. He couldn’t be upset that the couple he’d invited over hadn’t stayed. When they left before the sun came up, complications were easier to avoid. And Dean didn’t do complications. But shit, those two were fun. He wondered if he had bothered to get a phone number as he idly fingered a bite mark on his chest. It could be worth going a second round some time.

The sound of Neil Diamond pulled him out of his thoughts.  _Don’t you know, girl, you’ll be a woman soon. Please, come take my hand._ Sammy’s ring tone. Good. He had no idea where his damn phone had got to and this would be a good way to hunt the elusive bugger down.

“There you are!”

Dean reached down to grab his phone off the floor. It had managed to slide itself most of the way under the sofa and when he pulled it out to answer, a string of beads slid part of the way with it. Making a mental note to check out the necklace later, Dean answered. “Sammy! How’s Cali?”

The conversation was a quick one. Just his little brother bragging about his hot new Sandford girlfriend and blah blah normal life stuff, blah blah. It’s not like Dean wasn’t interested in what Sam had to say, but he was awful distracted trying to come up with the names of the couple he entertained last night. And by making coffee. And by a phantom scent he couldn’t find the source of, maybe lilacs or roses. Jasmine? But he hadn’t had flowers in his loft in… well, ever. He didn’t think the woman wore anything like it, Rowena smelled spicier, like vanilla.

“Aha! Rowena!”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, Sammy. Just thought of something.”

“Anyway, we’re gonna go to a Halloween in July party later. Should be killer! So, I’m gonna go get ready.”

“Doing Dr Frank N Furter again?”

“Yeah, Jess likes me in drag.”

“You keep that girl. Later Samsquatch!”

Dean hung up without waiting for an answer and tossed his phone back on the couch, then plopped his own ass down next to it. His foot brushed past something on the floor, reminding him of the mysterious beaded necklace that had been peeking out from beneath the furniture.

As he leaned over to grab the object, the scent of flowers overwhelmed him briefly sending a tingle through his nose that made him sneeze. Picking up the string of beads, he realized it was no necklace, but a rosary. Odd, he didn’t take any of the party kids that crashed there as the religious type.

He held the rosary up to the light to study the superb craftsmanship more closely. Alternating black and silver embossed beads graced the strand, and a simple, yet elegant silver crucifix hung from the center. Whoever made this, made it with love. A sliver of light bounced off the cross and danced across his face, lulling him into a trance-like state.

Dean felt something strange wash over him as the cross was reflected in his eyes, a sense of foreboding, like his life as he knew it was over. And then the sensation was gone, along with the smell of flowers.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Dean tossed the rosary onto the other side of the sofa and got up to set up for a Red Dwarf marathon. Today was a day off, and he was gonna do jack squat and love it. After a few episodes played, the rosary slowly made its way between the couch cushions, where Dean promptly forgot about it.

 ---

It was close to 10 pm when the smell of flowers returned. Dean was about to get ready for another night out on the town when it hit him again. But this time it was intense. So intense that it sent an odd humming through his body, and the beginning of a headache was imminent.

The searing pain hit him minutes later when he was in the shower. At first it felt like being flogged, razors at the edge of a cat o nine tails repeatedly slicing through his back. But that was only the beginning. His body spasmed of its own accord, arms flailing out to the sides. Then the sounds of a hammer hitting a spike echoed through the room, accompanied by the worst gut-wrenching pain he had ever known. Dean could feel the bones and tendons of his arms separating as solid metal punctured his flesh, straight through both wrists. First the right, then the left. His back arched off the cold tiles as the spikes continued to drive through him. And the noise, insistent, tapping, hammering, echoing, it was enough to drive him insane.

And maybe he was going insane, because he was on a hill, a dozen dead and dying, nailed to trees behind him. But amidst the gore was a glowing perfect child, no more than 12 or 13. Her white dress and long, blonde locks flowed behind her in the invisible jasmine scented breeze. She instilled peace within Dean, and he forgot the pain.

The girl tilted her head and squinted her eyes in confusion. Dean was suddenly very self-conscious under that intense stare.

“Curious. You are not a believer.”

“In what?”

“In me. In God.”

Dean shrugged. “I-I don’t know. I don’t think so? Who are you?”

“Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

“An angel of… the.”

“You have been chosen, Dean.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. No, ma’am.

“Chosen? For what?! Bathtub seizures? Thanks, but no thanks.”

“They who are chosen cannot be unchosen. And for that I am sorry.”

When Dean blinked his eyes, he was in a white room, monitors beeping and scrub clad nurses fussing around him.

“He’s awake! Can you hear me?”

“What? Where am I?”

“You’re at Brooklyn Memorial ER. You were found unconscious and bleeding in your apartment. Do you remember anything?”

Hospital? Dean was confused. Groggy, his head was spinning, and he thought he might vomit.

“Huh? No, get off me.” Dean feebly batted at a hand that was trying to pry his eyelids open and shine a light in them. “Stop.” The slight struggle he lost against the pen light must have strained something, because an eerie oozing sensation covered his arm. Looking over, he realized that fresh blood was pumping out of a wound on his wrist.

“Jesus. Let’s get more pressure on this! It goes all the way through…”

“What?”

And then Dean blacked out again.

The next time he woke up, his wrists were bandaged, and he could feel the familiar floating sensation of opioids in his system. Not bad.  Moments later, a nice-looking man nearing middle age in a white coat entered the room.

“Good to see you awake again, Dean-o. Let’s take a look at those wrists.”

Dean sat up and offered his arms as the doctor sat down next to him, then had to do a double take as realization hit him. Yep. Dean totally hit that. 

“You! You and your… Your, uh wife? Rowena. Gabriel, right?”

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows. “The one and only. Small world, eh sport?”

“Doctor, huh? Aren’t you fancy posh types too good for the Asylum?”

“Ha! You tell me?”

Dean let out a small laugh. No one was too good for the Asylum. That was the best party spot in all of NYC. “Shit, man. That was a helluva good time. I’m down for a repeat any time.”

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows again with a smirk and a wink. But then the levity seemed to be sucked out of the room as he reapplied his doctor face and cleared his throat.

“But now down to the serious chit chat. Is there anything going on in your life? Stress at work, relationship issues?”

“Not really, no. Why do you ask?”

“Dean, let me level with you. You almost died. And with wounds like this, it’s pretty obvious they were self-inflicted.”

“Self-inflicted? No. I don’t want to die. Let’s put the kibosh on that train of thought right there. I would  _never_  do something like this to myself. Ask anyone. I love being me.”

Gabriel gave Dean a skeptical look, but let it be. Something in his eyes must have convinced the other man. Dean friggin loved life and was gonna live the shit out of it, not go and ram some damned railroad spikes through his own arms. Fuck that.

“Well, the bleeding hasn’t entirely stopped, so try not to poke at it too much. We want to see that fully scabbed over in the next few days, OK?”

“Gotcha.”

Dean leaned back and watched as Gabriel got up and made to leave. Well, watched his ass mostly, with fond memories of the other night. 

“Hey, doc. Maybe I’ll catch you and Row at the Asylum next week?”

He shrugged in a non-committal way, then turned and latched the door behind him as he left. Dean was neither surprised, nor entirely bummed.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s best friend Charlie heard the news of his hospital stay and insisted on being the one to drive him home and take care of him. Dean wouldn’t admit it at first, but he was freaked the fuck out. He really didn’t want to be alone and was glad for Charlie’s mother hen attitude.

“Think you could stay the night?”

“Of course! I’ll make sure no one gets in to harm my boy ever again.”

And Dean believed her. The little spitfire was a bonafide krav maga master, after all.

Dean had managed to convince everyone that his wounds weren’t self-inflicted, but that left everyone under the assumption that someone had broken in and attacked him. Though, he wasn’t entirely convinced that that was the case either. He couldn’t remember, and it was eating at him.

“Just remember Dean, it’s not gonna be that kind of sleep over. Hanky panky is reserved for the ladies only.”

“Shut up, punk, and get your ass in bed.”

Charlie crinkled her nose as she smiled, then crawled under the blankets beside him.

 “Do you smell flowers? I definitely smell flowers.”

“No, I don’t smell anything.” And Dean didn’t. But something about that pulled at his gut, a sinking sensation that threatened to overwhelm him. He rolled over and shut off the bedside light.

“Goodnight, Charlie. Thanks for staying.”

“Any time, princess.”

Dean closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him.

\---

Dean rested for several days until he felt he had the strength in his right hand to hold his tattoo gun again. He did exercises to strengthen the healing tendons and was glad when he got the OK from Charlie that he seemed well enough to pick up a few hours’ worth of appointments. The first week it would mostly be consulting on large projects and filling in for walk-ins wanting butterflies and tramp stamps, nothing too taxing to his wrists.

But all that first day back, he was in a daze. Every time he looked out the window, he saw a woman garbed in blue flowing robes, tears of blood streaming down her face. Somehow, Dean just knew that the tears she wept were for a child lost to some great atrocity. An atrocity he felt doomed to relive in his own way. She would be gone if he looked away, or a bus would pass, blocking his view for a moment. But then he’d get back to work and the pull of her gaze would bring their eyes to meet again. And again, her eyes would fill with bloody tears. Dean felt trapped and panicky.

Charlie noticed his disconnect and ushered him back home from the shop early. Lucky for him, she worked the desk selling captive jewelry and booking appointments, so she was ever at the ready if he needed anything.

The J train was not crowded this time of day. A homeless man snoozed away two seats down, a few random ladies with shopping bags chattered away at each other at the other end of the car, and across the aisle was a lone man garbed in the habit of Catholic priesthood. 

The smell of jasmine filled the car, and Dean fell into a trance, the metal scratching of the train against the tracks and the slow steady rocking of the interior pulled him down. With eyes glazed, he felt himself stand and approach the priest, but it didn’t feel like him behind the wheel.

“Are You James Novak?”

The man looked surprised as he looked up at Dean, a look which told the truth that he knew the man in question. “No, child. My name is bishop Lynn. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No one can help me now, Padre. Elohim bakhar bi lamatarah na'alah yoter… I’m fucked.”

The squealing of the train bled into other noises. The lights flickered, and the car shook, but Dean stood entranced, grasping the cloth handholds hanging from the bars, head thrown back. The sounds grew louder until everything was suddenly silent and clear. Then the lashes began. The same as before, in his bathtub, he remembered them now. But this time he could feel the skin breaking and bleeding across his back. He could just make out the sound of someone counting, with each crack of the whip against his skin. An ancient and dead language, but Dean knew the count would continue until 39, even if the words themselves were alien. As the final lash fell across his skin, the spikes were nailed through his wrists again, reopening the barely healed wounds.

But where the pain should have been, he instead felt a rush of the open air. With a flurry of wings, the golden girl child stood before him again, in all her holy splendor.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean fell to his knees before the girl and grasped her pristine robes. “Why me?”

“I do not yet know. It is only the truly devout that seek the stigmata. You must want them in your heart, yet you do not. Why they have been given to you…” She paused and sighed.  “The reasons are not revealed to me. It will hurt, and you may not come out the same man you were. But you will be purified and saved.”

“Can you make it stop?”

“No, but my presence will help sooth you through the trials.”

Castiel placed two delicate fingers to Dean’s forehead and a wave of pure white light filled him. All pain and suffering vanished and he felt healed through to his very soul.

“You’ll have to return soon. And I’m sorry that you will have to feel the pain again. But there is only so much I’m allowed to interfere. I can only promise you this: You will not die.”

She turned to leave with the grace only an angel could possess.

“Castiel?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Will I see you again?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She had a sad glint to her beautiful, blue eyes, barely there, before she disappeared into the ether in a rustle of feathers and wind. Then the world came crashing back to Dean.

 ---

Dean sat up with a gasp and blinked his eyes into focus. He was in a hospital room, monitors beeping and an IV dripping into his arm. Pain suddenly flared through his back and wrists, making him groan through gritted teeth.

“Dean! Thank god you’re awake.” Charlie jumped out of her chair where she had been dozing by his bedside and hurried over to him.

“Charlie? What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t really know. The J got derailed or something… when the emergency lights came on you were screaming in gibberish and covered in blood. No one else was hurt, just tossed around a bit, but… Shit I’m glad you’re ok”

Dean looked away and out the window. It wasn’t much of a view. From his spot in the bed, all he could see were the crumbling red bricks of a nearby building and the edge of a light post. Dull as it was, he kept his gaze there. He remembered more this time. He remembered pain, and then the girl who took his pain away. What did they talk about? It was on the edge of his memory, but the words wouldn’t come back to him. But he knew a name. Castiel.

 A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. He glanced up as Gabriel came in and smiled down at him. The way the sun played against his sandy hair caused a halo of light to shine into Dean’s eyes.

“Gabe! Anyone tell you that you look like an angel?” Something tugged at his memories. Not a girl. An angel. Castiel.

Gabriel puffed out a brief laugh and grinned. “Every damn day.”

He pulled up a chair and slid it next to Dean’s bed, opposite of Charlie.

“We need to quit meeting like this, kiddo. I don’t know if you’re prone to accidents or if you’ve just got really bad luck, but you need to start being more careful with yourself. Those lacerations to your back are very deep. You needed a lot of stitches and you’ll be sporting some pretty wicked scars. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were whipped to get marks like that.”

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. It could just be some damned bad luck, but he wasn’t convinced. The girl, the angel, was so very real, and somehow, he knew that if he prayed hard enough she would hear him and ease him in times of need. She was his guardian now.

“And, Dean-o? Don’t even get me started on your wrists. Did you remove the sutures yourself, or did you have someone else do it? The main artery was missed by a few centimeters, but there are still a lot of important veins that have been severed. You’re probably in no risk of bleeding out now, but you’re skating on thin ice. You could cause permanent damage if you don’t let it heal.”

“Removed? No, they were there yesterday. I-I been keeping it clean and dry like you said!”

Dean looked frantically between Gabriel and Charlie. “Shit, you gotta believe me! I didn’t do it.”

Gabriel and Charlie exchanged a look that Dean couldn’t quite decipher in his rising panic, then suddenly he was alone in the room. He could hear them exchanging words on the other side of the door but couldn’t make out what was being said. When Charlie came back into the room, she had a forced smile on her face.

“Dean. I’m making an executive decision. I’ll be staying with you until you’re ship shape and back on your game. No questions asked, and I won’t take “no” for an answer.”

Great. Now everyone’s back to thinking he’s doing self-harm.  _I’m not. I’m not! Am I? I didn’t do this to myself. It would never happen. Would it?_ This must be what going crazy felt like. Great.

 


	4. Chapter 4

James Novak yet again found himself lounging in the bishop’s sitting room, enjoying an expensive glass of scotch with the man.

“Thank you for coming by, Jimmy.”

Lynn graced James with a warm smile, but something was surely upsetting him, for the smile kept slipping into something more sedate, almost forlorn.

“Anytime, Padre.”

James took a sip from his glass, then leaned over to grasp the bishop’s hand in his own.

“Something is troubling you.”

“Yes. I’m sure you heard by now. I was on the J yesterday during the mechanical failure. I overheard them saying there was a foot or so of damaged track. Probably kids throwing firecrackers into the tunnels again… Anyway, it was enough of an issue to cause the train to jump and kick into emergency mode, everything powered down. No one was injured, mostly the people were scared with a few minor bruises here and there. Except for one boy…”

Bishop Lynn looked away and took a large swallow out of his glass.

“I read about it in the papers. They said it was a broken window, he was cut badly by shards of glass?”

“That’s what they’re saying. But no. I was in the same car as him. Jimmy, there was no glass. I watched as this poor young man was whipped by an invisible hand. I saw the lashes appear with my very own eyes.”

Lynn looked deep into James’ eyes and gave his hand a squeeze.

“That is not the most unsettling part. When the ordeal was over, he was crying out. ‘Elohim bakhar bi lamatarah na'alah yoter. Ani atsil oto.’ He kept repeating the phrase until the paramedics came, then went still and slept.”

“Is that Hebrew? Do you know what he said?”

“God has chosen me for a higher purpose. I will save him.”

James frowned down into his glass.

“Yes, I suppose that would have been unsettling to have witnessed. But what do you think it means? Is he a messenger?” He looked back up and saw something in Lynn’s eyes. Sympathy, perhaps.

“I think it means you should seek the boy out and discover the answers for yourself.”

He was confused and furrowed his brow at Lynn. “Why me?”

“Because he asked for you. By name.”

 ---

Charlie wouldn’t let Dean out of her sight. She still had to show up for work, so he tagged along to the shop, even though he was currently off limits from tattooing anyone. Not until his wrists stopped oozing. In all fairness, he understood. The last thing a person wants is for their tattoo artist to be actively bleeding all over them. Unsanitary and unsafe. But it still sucked being stuck behind the counter while Charlie got to run off and apprentice with their piercer, Clive.

Well. It sucked until the man walked in. Tall, clad in a long black jacket and some seriously hot bedhead that screamed ‘touch me’. Dean had to clasps his hands in his lap not to reach out and run his fingers through the stranger’s hair. Talk about inappropriate. But then that piercing blue gaze hit him and his breath caught. He could feel his mouth open and close several times before words came out.

“Uh. Hey.” Good one, Dean.

“Hello.”

The man nodded and gave a small smile. Dean knew he was gaping like a school girl with a crush but couldn’t seem to knock the stupid expression off his face.

“I’m looking for Dean Winchester.”

“Uh, yeah, That’s me.” Holy shit, this guy was looking for  _him_? The only thought that Dean could get through his brain was that maybe he had a shot at getting this guy naked and in bed by the end of the day. Not the thoughts he should be having, like why was he looking for him and who the hell was he. Nope. One track brain, coming right up.

“What can I do for you?”

“I hear you are the best around in watercolor. I would like for you to tattoo me.”

Oh, yeah. Dean was pretty hot shit around these parts. Of  _course_  he was gonna tattoo the hell outa this guy! And then they’d have a seriously hot hoe down. Naked. On his bed. 

“Yeah, you heard right. What are you thinking, and where?”

The man unbuttoned his jacket and removed it, revealing a black suit and white priests’ collar. Well, shit. Dean was embarrassed, to say the least. He tried ducking his head and averting his eyes, but the man brought long, slender fingers up to his chest and caressed over his heart, Dean’s gaze following the movement.

“Doves. And Enochian sigils. Perhaps a cross.”

 “Yeah. You want to go somewhere?” Uh. The man quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, we could sit down and sketch it out. With coffee or something.”

The man stared down at him with a smile in his blue eyes. “Yes, that would be nice, Dean.”

“Shit, I mean, uh… What do I call you, anyway? It’s weird calling a guy I could date ‘Father’. No, I mean, I couldn’t date you obviously, oh fuck. Shit! I’m sorry!”

The man let out a genuine mirthful laugh.

“It’s fine, Dean. You just made my day. Call me Jimmy.”

“Jimmy.”

The man held out his hand to shake and Dean held out his own to grasp firmly.

“Father James Novak, to be precise.”

Dean’s stomach did a little fluttering dance and his mouth went dry. His face must have given his sudden trepidation away, for the man, Jimmy, looked down at him with concern,

“What is it?”

“I know this is gonna sound all sorts of crazy. But, I’ve sorta been expecting you.”

“I know.”

 ---

“You live around here?”

Dean looked at Jimmy intently as they spoke, watching every shift of his body, the way his slender hands held his cup as he took a sip, how his tongue darted out to clean his lips of the coffee. Dean caught himself licking his own lips in response.

“Fairly close. Saint Aloysius in Ridgewood.”

Well, shit. He was practically Dean’s neighbor. How the hell had he never seen this guy around before?

“You live in the church? Is there like, a bedroom in the back or something?”

“No, there’s a rectory, or dormitory if you will, behind the church where the priests live. There’s also a small cottage on the property where the Bishop is housed, though he oversees most of the Roman Catholic churches in the area, so sometimes he stays at the main dormitories in Manhattan.”

“So, you live with a bunch of other priests, then? Sounds boring.” Jimmy just shrugged in response. “Ever get out at night? One of my favorite places is right down the street from you. You know, if you ever wanted to cut loose, I could show you a good time.” Dean had to bite his lip and squish his brows down to stop himself from wiggling them suggestively. And he’s pretty sure all he managed to do was look constipated. “Shit, you probably aren’t allowed to go out, are you?”

Jimmy was laughing at him again. Goddammit.

“I do know how to cut loose, believe it or not. I drink, play pool, even dance. I’m not a monk, Dean.”

“You dance?! I gotta see this.” Dean leaned forward in excitement. Ok, this guy was definitely more human than he was expecting. If he drank and played pool, maybe he did other things too?

Jimmy’s eyes lit up with a mischievous mirth. “That can be arranged.”  

“Yeah? When?” Dean leaned in closer. He started feeling like a dog begging for snausages, could practically feel his butt wiggling back and forth as he shook his damn tail.

“Are you free Thursday?”

Hell yes. “I am now. It’s a date!” Dean was grinning ear to ear, his excitement practically tangible.

Jimmy suddenly had an odd expression on his face that Dean couldn’t place, and he couldn’t tell if he just won the jackpot or if he totally fucked up. Then the man looked down to study his coffee with a slight frown.

“Yes. Well, perhaps we should talk about my tattoo?”

Oh, right. Dean leaned back in his chair and absentmindedly rolled up his sleeves. The priest’s eye locked to his bandaged wrists, the frown still on his face, though it was different now, concerned. When he reached out and gently took Dean’s hands with a softly spoken “May I?”, Dean allowed it.

“What do you think, Father?”

Jimmy gingerly lifted the bandage away from Dean’s left wrist, inspecting the stitches, then turned Dean’s hand, palm to the table, to look at the other side. “It goes all the way through.” He sounded almost in awe.

“Yeah, both of ‘em do. Got cut up all over my back, too.” Dean kept his eyes down, shifting between the table and where the priest was still tenderly grasping his hand. “Doc thought I’d been flogged. Said there’s 39 lacerations total. Took about a million stitches to hold all the skin together.”

He could hear Jimmy’s breath catch, then the man squeezed his hand. Out of comfort or sympathy, Dean didn’t know. And for some reason, Dean felt calmed by the man, like he hadn’t felt calm since the whole ordeal began. So, he continued talking about his experience.

“Uh. I really don’t know what happened. Somebody did this, but it was like, they were invisible? And I keep smelling flowers. Lilacs or jasmine, I think. And, there’s this lady that’s been following me around with blood all over her face, like she’d been crying the stuff…  Sounds wack, I know. But maybe you get it?”

“What church do you attend?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No, no church. I, uh. I’m an atheist.”

Dean looked up and met Jimmy’s eyes again to see the confusion written all over his face. Long moments passed before he spoke again.

“Have you spoken to a psychologist about this?”

Dean was taken aback by the question. Any hint of a chubby he was sporting for this guy was suddenly shriveled and gone. He pulled his hands away from the priest and hid them in his lap under the table.

“You think I’m nuts.”

“No. But stigmatics are devoutly religious people, there have never been exceptions as far as I’m aware. And while the wounds you have suffered resemble the marks of Christ’s passion, I suspect there is something else at work here. You may benefit from speaking with someone who specializes in the psyche, or possibly neurology. Is your doctor considering epilepsy? That would certainly explain the phenomena you’ve been experiencing.”

Dean was suddenly and deeply offended, so he did what any well-adjusted young man would do and noisily scraped his chair back as he stood in a grand hyperbolic gesture. Why the fuck he just confided in some joe schmoe off the street was beyond him.

“Look,  _Padre_. I don’t know what the hell this stigmatic shit is, but I don’t need a goddamn head doctor and I’m not having seizures! I don’t know why I told you about any of that. You can’t help me. No one can.” Dean slammed a 20 on the table and walked off. “For the coffee.”

“Dean, wait!”

“Fuck off.” Dean flipped him the bird as he ran out the door and hailed a cab to get his ass to Asylum, pronto. It was 5pm and they were just opening. Time to get piss drunk.


	5. Chapter 5

James didn’t like how he left things with Dean. He should have been more careful with his words, phrased them differently, maybe been more soothing. He didn’t think he was being callous, but there was such a hurt look on Dean’s face when he suggested speaking to medical professionals. Pacing a hole in the carpet of his dormitory wasn’t doing good for anyone, so he made a few phone calls and tracked down Dean’s address. Charlie at the parlor was more than forthcoming when she learned a priest was concerned for her best friend.

As it turned out, they really were practically neighbors. Dean’s loft was only 7 blocks from St Aloysius, so James threw on his overcoat and headed out into the night. 10 minutes later found him outside an old warehouse turned residence, buzzing Dean’s number to let him in. But no one answered.

James took a seat on the curb out front to wait, arms draped casually over his knees, and thought.

There was something about the boy that put a longing ache in his chest, like if he didn’t somehow make amends and be a part of his life in some way, there would always be a hole that could never be filled. And even with the brief encounter they’d had so far, part of the emptiness James had grown used to had already started dissipating. He had no idea what it was. Even when he had been married to Amelia, then when their daughter Claire had been born, that hole had never been completely filled. So why did Dean inspire wholeness to his being?  

He supposed they were kindred spirits, really. Before he found God, James knew many vices and chased the pleasures of the flesh with women and men, alike. And he liked the way Dean looked at him. It was nice to be reminded on occasion that he was considered an attractive man, even if he had no intention of pursuing any wanton desires. He belonged to God now, all that was in the past, even if some part of him felt disappointment that he could not have it now.

Lost in thought as he was, the time drifted by quickly. It must have been well after midnight when he saw Dean stumbling up the block towards him looking nothing short of haunted.

“Dean?”

Large green eyes locked on his own as his hand flew to his head.

“Ow.” Dean’s face crumpled in pain before his shoulders slumped forward and his other hand went to his head to join the first. “Ow, ow, fuck. Shit!” And then he was stumbling back and running towards the alley.

James leapt up and ran after him. As he rounded the corner, he saw Dean fall to his knees as he threw his head back and screamed. Jagged cuts were forming across his brow sending blood pouring down his face. Lightening cracked overhead, and as the light illuminated Dean, James was certain he briefly saw the image of a wooden crown upon the boy’s head, thorns and nails gouging at his flesh. Blood flowed freely down his face and from his eyes, head back with a vacant stare to the heavens.

James knelt in front of him and braced him as best he could through his ordeal, blood soaked through Deans t-shirt and into James’ overcoat, the wounds on his back and wrists reopening. After a moment of what must be agony, Dean’s face went completely slack and a peaceful expression fell across his face. His lips moved, ancient sounds coming from his throat. James recognized the Galilean dialect, but was no linguist, so was unable to interpret the words coming from the boy’s mouth.

And almost as soon as the whole thing began, Dean closed his eyes and passed out, slumping forward into James’ arms. His breathing was light and even, no noticeable signs of distress. Regardless, James fished his phone out of his pocket to call for a ride to the hospital. That much blood loss couldn’t be good, and he was no doctor to be treating the wounds himself.

“All will be well, little one. Help is on the way.”

Lightening cracked again overhead, and the skies opened.

 ---

When Dean woke up, he was ravenous, felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He sat up and looked around, the familiar trappings of his loft surrounded him. A framed photograph of him and his mother when he was 3 years old sat on his bedside table next to an old brass lamp that looked like it belonged in a brothel rather than a young man’s apartment. On the wall across from his bed was mounted a Les Paul guitar, once owned by the remarkable Jimmy Page, now the prized possession of one Dean Winchester. But not everything was in its place. The old recliner that had been his father’s favorite chair was now sitting directly next to his bed, a man with dark messy hair and full pink, almost chapped lips was lounging peacefully upon it, eyes closed, and the sweet soft breaths of sleep escaping his mouth.

Dean reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair off the man’s forehead, wanting to touch, but not wanting to wake him. But at that moment, his belly decided to let out a fearsome roar, a rather unearthly sound that rattled the peaceful moment. Jimmy opened his eyes and looked to Dean before he could retract his hand, so he left it where it was, caressing his brow with a thumb, palm cupped to the side of his face. Dean realized in that moment that he felt more than simple attraction to the man before him. It was intense, almost visceral, it was pure need. And not in the purely carnal sense that Dean was used to having needs. This was pieces of a puzzle slipping together, completion. It was frightening.

“Dean?” Jimmy looked up at him, a little like a deer caught in the headlights, confusion prominent, but there was something else written in those eyes plain as day. Want.

Dean began to lean over to capture Jimmy’s lips with his own, the man’s eyes sparkling and mouth parting, head tilted up to meet part way as he came closer. They were breathing the same air, so close, almost there, when Dean’s belly reminded him of his gnawing hunger with a loud gurgle. Jimmy laughed and pulled back from the embrace before their lips could connect. “We should probably feed you.” And then the man was standing up, adjusting his suit, and walking to the kitchen, leaving Dean alone on his bed sporting some massive wood and feeling flustered. Traitorous stomach.

\---

Dean and Jimmy got to talking over breakfast. It turned out Dean had been unaware for nearly a week. He had spent several days in the hospital, then the last few, Jimmy and Charlie had been taking shifts watching over him. Apparently, he was up and moving around most of that time, but in a trance, unaware of the people around him.

“There’s something that may unsettle you a bit to see.”

Dean pushed his empty plate of hash and eggs away, then swallowed down the last of his coffee.

“Yeah? This whole thing is ‘ _a bit unsettling_ ’. Not sure anything is going to stand out at this point.” Dean had a bad feeling, though. He was pretty sure there was a helluva lot of room for things to get even more unsettling.

“Come into the living room.” Jimmy held out his hand for Dean and led him around the half wall that hid part of the living room from the rest of the house. When Dean laid eyes on the hidden portion of the room, his breath hitched in part panic, part awe.

“What is it?” There were weird sigils painted across the entire surface of the far wall, red and dripping. And there was a faint lingering smell of jasmine in the room that made Dean’s gut twist. He was pretty sure he’d never enjoy smelling flowers again after this.

“Do you remember writing it?” Jimmy turned his head and looked at Dean, who in turn faced him to look the priest in the eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Dean, you wrote these words.” Sincerity shone in those eyes so brightly, that Dean had no option but to accept it as truth. Except…

Nope. Huh-uh. Nada. Adios. Dean stumbled over to the sofa and slumped down into the cushions, cradling his head in his hands. “Maybe I  _should_ see that shrink you mentioned. I’m obviously going out of my mind! What the hell, Jimmy?”

Dean could feel the other man sit next to him as the sofa dipped under his weight, then an arm was wrapping around his shoulder.

“Not Hell, Dean. Those are heavenly glyphs. It’s Enochian, the language of the angels.” There was pure awe in the man’s voice and when Dean looked up from his hands, he saw the awe in his eyes, too.

“What does any of this mean? Why me? What does Heaven want with me?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Maybe translating these words will give us a clue.” Jimmy squeezed his shoulder once, then stood up to study the Enochian script, leaving Dean alone on the sofa in his confused misery.

 ---

After taking several photographs and some email correspondences with the Bishop, Jimmy stopped his studies to sit down and chat with Dean again.

“Bishop Lynn recognized a few of the symbols. God, Love, Man, Christ…” At each word stated, he pointed out the corresponding glyph on the wall. “And this one here seems to be the name of an angel, and though it is more obscure, Lynn is certain it belongs to one of the Seraphim, who are of the highest orders of angels which represent purity and light.”  

Dean knew the name and swallowed around the lump forming in his throat as he whispered out, “Castiel”.

Jimmy’s face blanched and his eyes widened in shock. “What?”

Dean looked up past the man at the name written on the wall. Now that Jimmy had pointed it out, Dean knew for certain whose name was written there. “Castiel. That’s what this name is.” Dean slid his fingers over the complicated sigil, a warmth filling through him. Even though the girl wasn’t there, simply being in contact with her Word made him feel like light and love embodied.

“You’ve spoken to Castiel? You’ve seen the angel’s face?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. I got the impression that she was dimming herself down for me, like if I were to look at her true form, my eyeballs would melt or something. So, sort of.”

Jimmy took his wallet out of an inner pocket of his suit coat with shaking hands, then carefully withdrew a single photograph. Dean took it and studied it for a time. It was a picture of Jimmy with a pretty woman Dean didn’t recognize and a young, beautiful blonde girl, maybe 8 or 9. It was Castiel, and it wasn’t. This girl didn’t glow, and as lovely as she was, she wasn’t special. Not the way the angel was.

“The girl. The face is right, but I can tell this isn’t Castiel.”

“That is my daughter, Claire. And my wife, Amelia.” Wife? Dean’s heart sank, but he kept his face smooth and kept listening. “We were married before I became a Deacon to the church. She died in childbirth with our second, a son who also perished that day. Too many complications I won’t get into, not right now. When the angels came and took them to Heaven, they promised they would come back. They said Claire and I had a purpose. My faith faltered after losing my infant son, only for a moment, but it was enough. But Claire, she was ever so pure and faithful, said yes without a moment’s hesitation. And so, she too was taken by an angel. Though not in the same sense as my wife was taken.”

Things started clicking into place for Dean. Why he had called out for James Novak on that subway, why he felt an instant connection when they met. Castiel knew more than she told Dean. Maybe she really didn’t know why he had been chosen for these “trials”, but he knew that she had something to do with him and Jimmy meeting. Castiel was wearing Claire as a meat suit, after all. Jimmy’s own flesh and blood.

“That’s… You lost your entire family in one day? Shit, dude. Is Claire, you know, still alive?”

Jimmy shrugged and looked at his hands. Nice hands. Dean reached out and held on to one. “As far as I’m aware, Claire is just sleeping. Castiel said they would allow Claire’s body to age naturally while being a vessel of the divine. But I must wonder at her cognitive abilities. Is she still going to have the mind of an 8-year-old girl when she should be 13 now?” Again, he shrugged. “It hasn’t been easy, but it’s something I’ve grown used to. I just hope to see her again before her whole childhood is gone.”

Dean didn’t know what else to say to that, so they sat in silence for a time, arm to arm, hand in hand, staring up at the Enochian covered wall.

Eventually Jimmy got up to make them sandwiches for lunch, Dean following behind to sit at the island counter and watch.

“You’re not what I thought a priest would be like.”

 Jimmy turned his head to give Dean a sly look over his shoulder. “No?”

“Well, no. You’re actually kinda fun. And you like tattoos. I didn’t think priests could do shit like that. Not to mention you are seriously fuckable…” Damned whore mouth. Dean cringed and looked away from Jimmy briefly to hide the embarrassment on his face. “And I just keep putting my foot in my mouth.”

Jimmy turned to look at him, leaning back and resting his hands behind him on the counter. He didn’t say anything but stood there studying Dean. When Dean looked back up at Jimmy, he saw something mischievous sparkling behind the man’s eyes, and there was that want again, plain as day on his face. It looked downright dirty.

“Don’t look at me like that padre…”

Jimmy smirked, “And why not?”

Shit. Game over. Before Dean could stop himself, he surged up and grabbed Jimmy by his lapels and pulled him forward into a heated kiss. It seemed to be more of a surprise to Dean than to Jimmy, like the guy could see this coming a mile away. What surprised Dean even more though, was that Jimmy was kissing him back with as much enthusiasm as Dean himself was giving it, his tongue tasting vaguely of cloves and honey. It was Dean’s new favorite flavor.

Everything suddenly became a whirlwind of hands, lips, and tongues. Clothes started flying and Dean found himself being coaxed backwards, strong hands lifting him by the hips until he was firmly planted on the breakfast bar. Jimmy deftly removed the sweat pants Dean had been sleeping in and undid his own fly.

From there on everything was very surreal, almost Dreamlike for Dean. It was like a trance almost, but nothing like the ones he felt when he was undergoing the stigmata. He was on a cloud with Jimmy, maybe they were in heaven, a glimpse of the divine. And when the man was finally inside of him, electrical pulses of ecstasy shot through his entire being, every thrust, every brush of skin, every kiss, sent those currents through his body until he thought he might scream from the pleasure of it all.

It was nothing like the sex he had had before with other men. Anal was OK. Well, it was fucking fantastic when that sweet spot got hit, but for the most part it kind of felt similar to pooping. Weird, but still fun enough that he would partake in the sport on occasion. But not this. There was none of the initial discomfort or sensations that made it just  _OK_. This was…  _awesome_. Like in the literal and formal sense of the word.

Dean never wanted it to end, and when he gazed up at Jimmy, moving gracefully above him and inside him through the ethers of heaven, he could see all the love and affection of the entire universe staring back down at him and he felt whole. He knew at that moment that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. From here on out, everything would fall into place and the world would be perfect. He was in love.

What could have been minutes, hours, days, or eons, the high wore off and there was Jimmy, still looking down at him, a small smile upon his lips. Dean smiled back and slowly lowered his leg from where it had found itself perched on the other man’s shoulder.  He lifted his hands up to Jimmy’s face and pulled him down for a soft kiss.

A little tingle of trepidation hit him. Jimmy was a priest. What if this was a one-time thing? The guy had made a vow or something, didn’t he? Shit, they were both probably destined for eternal hellfire or some bullshit like that now. Dean did the only thing he knew how at that moment and wrapped his arms around the other man and squeezed him tight against his chest, delaying the inevitable separation for as long as he could.

“Are you OK, Dean?” Jimmy’s voice was a breathy wisp against his ear. Dean squeezed tighter. “Don’t you dare ever let me go.”

“We have to get cleaned up sooner or later. And, Dean?” The man laughed. “You have food in your hair. I recommend sooner.” And then he was gently disengaging himself from Dean’s arms and lifting himself off the counter-top.

“You know what I mean, jackass.” Dean scoffed at him with as much indignation as he could muster, but the man’s glowing mirth made Dean let out a little laugh of his own. “I must look a sight.” He sat up and lifted his hands to his hair, feeling little pieces of turkey and greasy mustard where he had apparently used a sandwich as a pillow. “Ugh.”

“Yes. The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Gross. “Zip it, ya girl.” Dean averted his gaze out of embarrassment. He knew he was a looker but being called beautiful by Jimmy didn’t seem like the shallow statement it usually was when directed at him. Like they guy was talking about something way deeper than his appearance, something Dean didn’t know what to do with. Because deep down on the inside? Dean was unattached, a player, a party boy who rarely went back for seconds. What Jimmy saw inside him would take lifetimes for Dean to fathom.

Jimmy held out his hand for Dean. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” Dean allowed Jimmy to lead him into the shower where they took turns soaping each other up and shared more delicious kisses. Ok, so maybe Jimmy wouldn’t have a sudden pang of guilt and run out to go seek absolution or something. Dean could only hope.

That night, Dean slept better than he had in months, wrapped up in Jimmy’s embrace. Manliness be damned, he decided then and there that being the little spoon was pretty alright.


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning, Charlie didn’t have to work, so she bussed over to Dean’s loft to relieve father Novak of his watch. He had been there for several days and she was certain that he had some sort of priestly duties to attend to. She had gotten a call the night before that Dean was fully cognizant again and seemed in good spirits despite his ordeal. And that was fucking super!

So, Charlie got up early, baked Dean a batch of his favorite blueberry muffins and booked it over as quick as she could. At 10am, she buzzed up to the loft and was let in with the soft click of the security door unlocking.

Perhaps it was due to juggling the muffins up the stairs that caused her to walk softer than usual, or maybe she really was just a ninja, but she took advantage of the fact that she came upon the scene just on the other side of Dean’s door undetected to ogle, jaw dropping to the floor, staring silently. Dean had Father Novak’s face cupped gently in his hands as he kissed him quite thoroughly, their bodies much too close for her liking. So, when Dean’s hand dropped to grope at the priest’s ass, she cleared her throat loudly, clinging tight to the basket of muffins so as not to drop them and ruin their breakfast.

“Dean! What the hell are you doing?!” She hissed out in a warning voice.

The guys, quite obviously startled, quickly separated and each took a step back to turn and look at her, Father Novak with confidence, Dean with shamed embarrassment. But when the two of them let their eyes meet again, Dean’s posture straightened, and he was smiling again, looking surer of himself.

“You’ll be back soon?”

“Of course, Dean.” Father Novak leaned in and planted one last gentle kiss to Dean’s lips, then turned to leave. As he walked passed Charlie, he gave her a look that said  _I’m sure Dean can explain everything_. Then he was out the door leaving Dean staring longingly at the space he had just vacated and Charlie staring questioningly at Dean, still clutching muffins to her chest.

“What the bananas, asshole? You can’t just seduce a goddamn priest into your weird little sex kitten play ring! This is so many levels of wrong…” Charlie nudged him with her shoulder as she walked passed, knocking him back a step.

“Hey!”

“Come on. These muffins are still warm. Let’s eat up, then you got some serious explaining to do.”

 ---

“Come in, Jimmy. How are you? How’s the boy?”

James walked into bishop Lynn's sitting room and took a deep breath in preparation of his confession, informal as it was.

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Something happened. Between us.”

Lynn arched an inquisitive eyebrow at the younger man standing awkwardly before him. “Yes?”

“We were together last night.” James held up his hand to stop the words from the bishop’s mouth. “Before you say anything, I need you to know it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t an act of depravity. I felt touched by the grace of God, felt his hand guiding me through the whole thing. It was a blessed union, a divine connecting of two souls. I hope this doesn’t sound like heresy to you, your excellency. But I know what I felt. What I feel…” James looked warily at the other man’s face, trying to read a response in his expression. And he was more than surprised at what he saw there. He wasn’t expecting anger, for Lynn was a patient and understanding man. But the disappointment he was expecting never showed, only a small smile and fatherly love.

“I’ve translated some of the Enochian you sent me, the words the boy wrote while entranced.” Lynn motioned James to sit, and per usual had a small glass of scotch handed to him. Lynn sat next to him after stoppering his decanter of whiskey, then continued on.

 “I cannot speak the words of the translation verbatim, mind you, as the language is very old and not all words are known to us. But the gist is this: Soul mates, Jimmy. When God designed the universe, he designed it so it would hold itself up and evolve without direct guidance. Gave it a sort of autonomy from his hand. When souls were created, many were created in pairs. When the paired souls are both born unto this world in mortal form, they seek each other out, have a compulsion to be physically connected. Though it seems that what physical form the souls take is completely left to chance… Do you understand the implications of that?”

James felt like he was hit with a ton of bricks. But a nice ton of bricks. Sort of. The Catholic faith never thought of homosexuality as a sin per se, as it was born into the individual like any other genetic trait. What they felt the sin was, was to couple without intent to procreate. Sodomy was indulgent and sinful, regardless of the sex and gender of those involved, as no children could be born of such a union. But, if soul mates were meant to be physically together, regardless of the body they inhabited, regardless of procreation outcomes, then that sort of threw centuries worth of beliefs out the window. James hadn’t even asked for forgiveness yet, and he was already absolved. No sins committed according to the words.

“Do you believe this to be the words of Heaven, or is it a fluke?”

Lynn looked at James with sincere affection when he said, “I don’t know. I hope it is true for your sake. What I do believe is that you and that boy have some sort of connection that was fated to be realized. Perhaps not in the way you realized it last night…” Lynn gave a little frowning look that tsk’d James' actions. Ah, there’s the disappointment. “But it’s possible that it was supposed to happen.” He sighed then shook his head. “I don’t know.” Then suddenly Lynn looked sad. “One thing I can say for certain, though. If you pursue this, you will not be allowed to keep your post within the church. The mad scribblings of a boy in trance will not rewrite the faith. If word of this gets out, the Congregation for the Causes of Saints will investigate and likely called it a falsehood, and in the process, I can only see them excommunicating you. You and I both know this.”

James looked down at his hands where they were gently clasped around the glass tumbler. He lifted the whiskey to his lips and swallowed down the dram in one pull. He had some thinking to do, for he didn’t know how to proceed or what he was supposed to do next. He didn’t want to leave the church, he loved God and loved his flock. What he  _really_  didn’t want to do, what he  _couldn’t_  do, was leave Dean.

“I don’t envy you your situation, James. You have a very hefty decision to make. Whichever direction you choose will impact the rest of your life greatly.” Lynn stood up when his phone rang, stopping the words that James would have responded.

“Hello? Yes, yes, he is… I see. Thank you. I will let him know.” Lynn had a concerned look on his face, the color slightly draining away. And when he looked into James' eyes as he hung up the phone, there was nothing but pity there.

“That was Charlie Bradbury. They are on their way to the hospital in an ambulance, but Dean is completely unresponsive. He has been afflicted again. You should go.”

James was on his feet and out the door before Lynn could excuse him.


	7. Chapter 7

It was several hours after Jimmy left when the foreboding smell of jasmine hit Dean again. The trance started in almost immediately, blocking any pain that he may have felt from whatever wound he was about to receive. Dean could barely make out Charlie commenting, “Shit, you spray something in here? Smells like flowers…” She sounded like she was under water. And before he could respond, he was on the hill with Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” If she was here, then he was probably on his way to the hospital again. Shit. Though, he was grateful she appeared before he had to endure any excruciating pain this time around.

The glowing girl cocked her head to the side and squinted at him, deep in thought. “Cas. You have shortened my name. This is a thing mortals often do as a form of endearment. I accept this.”

Dean gulped. He hadn’t thought, the name just popped out before he realized he could have potentially offended this all powerful being of the Lord. But she was smiling at him, pleased. “That’s not something Angels do?”

“Our names are our names.” She shrugged, then let the smile fall from her face.

“You were not on the list of those to achieve sainthood, so it took several of my kin to determine the cause of your stigmata. You were an anomaly to us, you even gained the interest of my eldest brother, Michael. Through him we have discovered the knowledge of why you have begun the trials.”

Dean’s ears perked up in interest. An archangel was on his case personally? He was all at once very excited and very nervous. “You know? What is it? Is there a way to stop it?”

“Yes. It was passed on to you. And, yes.”

“Passed on? What, like an STD or something? I get around, but I’m careful…” Dean snapped his mouth shut in dismay. Maybe not the best topic to broach with an Angel of the friggin Lord.

Castiel closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, Dean. Although we are very well aware of your extracurricular pursuits, that is not the cause of this. The behavior you exhibit is curious, though. Your soul is attached to another. We rarely see such promiscuity in a paired half.”

“Uh. So, I’m not going to hell for the shit I’ve pulled? I mean, stuff. The stuff I’ve done… I sinned a lot.” Dean looked down and studied his feet. He seemed to be wearing his favorite boots and a pair of ragged blue jeans, though he was certain he was still clad in his sleep clothes back in his real body.

Castiel laughed. “Sin is a man-made notion created to keep your fellow humans in line, and for the most part, keeps the chaos of true free will to a minimum. It is a handy principal and one we are pleased many humans follow, but it has no real determination on who is worthy to enter Heaven. Hell is reserved for the truly wicked, and wicked you are not.”

Dean looked up, hopeful. He never believed in God before all this happened, never believed any of his choices might affect what happened in the afterlife. Hell, he never even believed there was an afterlife, just sleep and then nothing. But now, he started thinking that he wasn’t just going crazy. Jimmy knew Castiel, after all. They couldn’t both be going insane, right? Maybe he really did get a free pass to through the pearly gates. Well, hot damn!

Something else Cas said tickled his memory. “You mentioned linked pairs? We talked about that before, didn’t we? I have a hard time remembering details when I wake up…”

Castiel reached up and brushed two small fingers across Deans brow. With the contact, all his memories came flooding back to him with perfect clarity. He had a soulmate. Jimmy. God created their souls to always be together. “I’m sorry, Dean. I sometimes forget how limited the human mind can be. Mechanisms in place to deal with stress can often lead the mind to forget. You should not have that problem now. At least, where our conversations are concerned.”

Castiel took her hand back and clasped it with her other, fingers intertwining against her abdomen. “I fear we have strayed from an important topic, and I don’t have much time until you wake again. There is an object you have recently acquired. It is a holy relic belonging to one who was undergoing the trials of sainthood. So strong was his belief that it imprinted itself on this object, passing the trials along to you when his soul returned to Heaven. Can you recall receiving any religious artifacts, or purchasing anything from the church?”

Something tickled Dean’s mind. He closed his eyes and let the memory find him. A sliver of light dancing across his eyes, the smell of jasmine and lilac, a string of intricately carved beads. “I found a rosary.” When he opened his eyes again Cas was smiling up at him, her beautiful blues eyes sparkling in a familiar way that reminded him of Jimmy. He really could see the resemblance between the vessel, Claire, and her father. He hoped he got to meet Claire someday.

“I will come to you soon and retrieve it. It will be kept in Heaven where it can do no harm until it is needed again on Earth.” Dean stared after her as she departed. He saw her wings this time. She didn’t just disappear in a rustle of feathers but allowed him to glimpse a small fragment of her true form. It was a hard image for his mortal mind to comprehend. If anyone where to ask him what she looked like, he would never be able to summon the words to describe it. But what he could say was that it was beyond magnificent, truly an awe-inspiring image. “Heh. Awesome.”

When Dean opened his mortal eyes to the mortal world, he was looking up at the ceiling of a familiar room in the hospital. Gabriel was checking his vitals off to the side, Jimmy and Charlie both stood together, his arm wrapped protectively across her shoulder. Dean smiled at them all, now totally at peace with himself and what was happening to him.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean couldn’t walk very well. Both of his feet had been punctured clean through. The left side had been completely mangled, even though both feet had seen several broken bones. He had to wear one of those giant black booties on his right and use crutches to hobble around. Gabriel wanted to schedule surgery for his left foot before they put a cast on, but Dean knew it would probably be opened back up before this whole ordeal was finally over and done with. Cas had said she would retrieve the rosary from him soon, but that didn’t mean the stigmata wouldn’t start again before he saw her. So, he put the surgery off, to Gabriel’s great dismay.

Two days in the hospital of being fussed over and called stubborn repeatedly left Dean feeling exhausted. He was supposed to be resting and healing, and this shit was not helping. He didn’t even want to think about what the bills were gonna be like. Even the barest glimpse of a thought in that direction gave him the beginnings of a migraine. He needed his awesome bed in his awesome loft. So on the third day, he had Jimmy and Charlie spring him from the joint.

Once they got home and had Dean situated in his bed, Charlie pulled Jimmy to the side to speak with him privately. “What the hell is going on, Novak?! If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I still wouldn’t believe any of this bullshit was real. I thought at first Dean had some creepy stalker that attacked him, then it seemed pretty clear he was doing it himself… But now? What the hell kinda supernatural bullshit is he wrapped up in? He’s always been so absolutely… atheist. In like, everything. No pagan, no Christian, no Buddhist, no nothing. Ghosts aren’t real, stigmata’s not real, so how the hell is any of this happening to him? And what the shit is up with the two of you? You’re a priest for fucks sake, what are you doing screwing…”

Jimmy hushed her by placing his hands upon her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I know you have a lot of questions and I can hopefully answer some of them.” He led her around the corner and sat her down on the sofa and told her everything he had learned, though there were still some gaps he himself needed filling in.

Though they tried to remain quiet, Dean could still make out most of what they said in their hushed tones as they stepped behind the half wall and left his line of sight. What Jimmy had translated of the Enochian covering his walls was pretty similar to what he had learned from Castiel. Souls were born of Heaven, many in pairs. Dean’s and Jimmy’s were one such linked pair. Jimmy wasn’t certain, but he believed Dean was undergoing the stigmata because of this, for without such trials, the two souls may never have reconnected on Earth. It had brought them back together.

“Riiiight… And angels told you all this? I still don’t believe it. Soulmates, dude? I don’t remember hearing about any of that back in Sunday school. I’m calling shenanigans.”

Dean could hear Jimmy huffing out a little laugh and could picture him shrugging. “You are correct. There is no mention of soulmates anywhere in the bible. But simply because it is not written, does not mean it is not correct.”

Dean lost whatever response Charlie made in reply to Jimmy. Jasmine overwhelmed him, and he was being draped in eerie silence. There was nothing until he heard the whip crack and pain sang through his skin. Then came the sounds of a hammer against spikes, renewing the holes to his wrists and feet. Darkness came as a crown of thorns was placed upon his head by an invisible hand. All the pain Castiel had allowed him to escape was completely unhindered in its intensity. Dean tried so hard to find that hill, that golden child, but there was nothing but darkness and anguish. “Castiel!!!” His throat became raw from screaming her name. And for the first time in his life, Dean prayed. Prayed to God and to Castiel. Prayed for deliverance, for salvation. He knew the trials were meant to cleanse, but he wasn’t supposed to be chosen. Just as he felt the tip of a spear slide cruelly slow into his gut, his prayers were answered, and blessed unconsciousness claimed him.

 ---

“Castiel!!!” James was cut off in his debate with Charlie when Dean suddenly cried out. In tandem, the two of them rushed to his side. Dean was writhing, his sheets a giant mass of blood and gore. James quickly yanked at the top sheet and began ripping strips off along its length to wrap around the various wounds forming on Dean’s prone body. He had a thought in the back of his head that the room should be overwhelmed with the metallic stench of blood. But the odor wafting from Dean’s wounds was jasmine, strong and sweet, and more powerful than he had ever smelled the fragrance from Dean before.

“Castiel!!!” The boy cried out again, his eyes clenched in agony, breathing fast and ragged. His arms were outstretched to his sides and legs crossed at the ankles. With the blood streaming down his anguished face, he looked the part of Jesus hanging from his cross.

Jimmy barely registered the scent of lilac and ozone combating the jasmine, for in a rush of cool wind and the rustle of feathers, She was there, standing over Dean, a faint unearthly glow about Her being. And though he knew it was the angel, Castiel’s divinity couldn’t shadow Claire’s radiance. And when she spoke it was with Claire’s voice. “Hello, Dean.”

Charlie was immediately tense, protective and combatant. James’ felt his heart clench in pity as the girl flung herself over Dean’s body to protect him from the intruder, flailing a blind arm out in Castiel’s direction to keep her at bay. She was still skeptical at best of the whole affair, reacted on instinct rather than give faith that what they had told her might be true. All the while she was yelling, “God, this can’t be happening, none of this shit is real! Stay away from him, all of you!”

“Sleep, girl. And awake in peace.” Castiel made a small gesture with her hand and Charlie crumpled in her spot above Dean, knocked out cold. “Please James, move her to where she may be more comfortable.” James complied without a word, moving Charlie gently to the reclining chair next to the bed. A million questions ran through his mind, but he kept his mouth shut, leaving Castiel the space to tend to Dean properly. It resulted in him standing awkwardly to the side as Castiel gently ran her hand across Dean’s forehead, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“I can feel your agitation, James. Speak if you wish.”

James let out a long sigh. “How is Claire?”

“She is in here. With me. Claire is happy to see you.” Castiel briefly looked up and met James’ eyes. The glow behind them dissipated for a moment and he could see nothing but Claire as she smiled beautifully at him. And then it was all Castiel again, solemn, graceful, and serene.

“Thank you.” James felt a tear sliding down his cheek, overwhelmed with too many feelings to separate or distinguish one from another. “Will Dean be ok?”

“Yes.” The blood was slowly dissolving, the sheets no longer a sticky mess, and the skin on Dean’s body seemed to be healing before his very eyes. With a lack of anything else to say, he simply repeated himself. “Thank you.”

“We must find the relic before his wounds reopen. I have stopped them for the moment, but I can feel the Spirit within this room. It needs Dean, has clung on to him.”

“Relic?”

“Yes.” Castiel walked past him, eyes closed, and focused on a sensation James could not feel. He followed the angel to the wall of Enochian writing, leaving Charlie and Dean sleeping peacefully where they lie. The words put a small smile on the angel’s face. “I’m glad the two of you have found each other again.” She turned that smile to face him as she spoke. And then her eyes lost focus, gazing at something beyond Jimmy, something unseen. When he blinked, she was holding a familiar object in her hands.

“That was Monsignor Augustine’s rosary. He should have been buried with it.”

“He was not.”

James pulled a face at Castiel. No shit. "Obviously."

“This will be taken to Heaven and secured within the secret vaults. We would normally destroy such objects, but it has been imprinted with such astounding faith, it would be like destroying a part of my Father, and this I cannot do.”

 “But taking it away will stop Dean’s affliction? That's the cause of all this?”

“Yes.” And then she was gone. Only not. He heard her reappear next to Dean’s bed, so he walked back around the wall and stood to face them. Dean was shifting in his sleep, on the verge of waking up. Castiel brushed two fingers across Charlie’s forehead before leaning over to do the same to Dean.

“She will understand when she wakes up. The boy is stirring. I have made sure all is healthy and whole within him. Enjoy your time together on this Earth. Claire will be returned to you, I shall see you again at that time.” She turned to leave, a shimmer of reality, then solidified once again. “Oh, and the girl will remain asleep for several more hours. You may want to take advantage of that time.” With a wink she was gone, both the scent of lilac and jasmine slowly fading from the room.

“Was that Cas?”

James looked down at Dean who was blinking up at him with large green eyes. He was whole, no wounds, no scars, and a healthy pink glow to his skin. He was perfect. Before James could stop himself, he was upon Dean, wrapping him up in his arms and tangling their lips together. Dean happily kissed him back, no questions asked. The two of them connected like they had always meant to be connected, two souls that were a piece of each other, separated no longer.   


	9. Epilogue

Dean and Jimmy wereinseparable from then on. Years flew by and they grew happier by the day. Dean finally tattooed the dove over Jimmy's heart along with the Enochian sigil of Castiel's name. “She helped us find each other, so she gets a permanent spot over my heart.” It was a sappy sentiment, but Dean agreed and put his whole heart into making the design as beautiful as she was.

Bishop Lynn had been accurate in his assumption that James Novak would be resigned of his position in the church if he continued his relationship with Dean. Though, he was astoundingly pleased that he was not excommunicated. Lynn’s fierce determination had something to do with that, he was certain. But regardless, he was allowed to keep his faith within the Catholic church, even though he now knew how flawed the dogma was, it was still a part of him in this mortal form.

After two years together, with Dean creating amazing works of art on the bodies of the inhabitants of NYC, and Jimmy making his own works of art in the form of latte’s (alas, what else was an ex-priest to do?), they eloped to Las Vegas and were hitched in a little rent-a-chapel off the strip. Dean had finally convinced Jimmy to explore some of his (not so secret) kinks, so for a wedding gift, Jimmy gave Dean a length of the finest silk rope money could buy and securely fastened him to their bed. Dean had never been happier to be immobilized and spanked in his entire life.

When Claire’s 17th birthday finally came, and Jimmy was feeling down and out and missing his little girl, Dean did what he hadn’t done in almost 4 years. He got down on his knees and prayed to Castiel. He prayed long and hard, wanting nothing more than to let Jimmy have his daughter back, even if it was only for a moment. And so, she came to him, in all her golden splendor, in a rush of flower scented breeze.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked up at her from his place on his knees. He made no move to stand. She was an angel of the Lord and his genuflection before her only seemed appropriate. “Heya, Cas.” She smiled warmly at the nickname and gently cupped his cheek.

“I know why you’ve called me. And I agree. It is time. I have found another worthy vessel. This one may be returned to her father.”

“Thank you.” Dean reached up and squeezed the hand that was still lightly holding his cheek.

“And Cas? I don’t know if you ever get bored, if that’s something angels feel, but if you do, come and see me. You know, when I’m sleeping. Or we could get coffee. There’s a really great place in Manhattan that everyone should try at least once in their life.”

Castiel laughed and withdrew her hand. “Dean, I will see you and James again. In approximately 65 years. I will personally escort you both back to heaven where the three of us can catch up like the old friends we are and have been for millennia. Now, close your eyes. If you look, this will hurt.”

Dean complied but was slow enough in his response that he saw Castiel fling her head back, a bright blue glow starting to emanate from her eyes and mouth. It started to become unbearable, so Dean flung an arm over his eyes to shut out the light. He could hear an electrical buzzing, then moments later, all was quiet. And then a soft hand was on his shoulder.

“Dean?”

He looked up and it was Claire staring back down on him. She was still a lovely young woman, but the angelic grace that had filled her before was now gone. Castiel was gone. “You know who I am?”

She simply nodded, looking around a bit confused. Shit, the girl had probably been all over the world and seen all sorts of crazy things with an angel riding shotgun in her noggin. But she was back, and goddamn if he was gonna miss the look on his partner’s face when he saw her standing there.

“Jimmy! Hey! Get your ass in here. Got something you probably want to see!” He got up from his place on his knees and stood next to the now teenage girl/ex-angel. 

Dean and Claire both grinned at each other as they heard him grumbling from the other side of the bathroom door. “Can’t it wait? I’m soaking! Unless you want to join me…”

“Don’t you dare finish that statement! There are delicate ears out here.” Claire laughed outright at that.

“Delicate, my ass.” And God help him, but Dean giggled. He was so damn excited he thought he might pass out.

“Hurry it up! And put some clothes on!”

A few moments later Jimmy rounded the corner, thankfully he had the good sense to listen to Dean and put on a t-shirt and an old pair of jeans. When his eyes locked on Claire, he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in surprise and mouth agape. Then he was grinning ear to ear, a look of true happiness that Dean had seen several times throughout their years together, but never this condensed. He thought the room might explode from the pure electricity of the emotions in it.

Then Claire was squealing and ran over to fling herself into a giant bear hug, allowing herself to be picked up and swung around in circles like a small child, laughing all the while. “I missed you, dad.”

“I missed you, too. Welcome home, baby.”

Dean had felt whole by finding Jimmy, but now they had the completion of family. He couldn't wait to have Sammy and Jess over for Christmas. Shit was about to be seriously perfect. 


	10. The History of Souls

Castiel had watched in awe as God created the universe. Looked down with rapt attention as meteor after meteor hit the fledgling planet that would later be called Earth. The molten rocks twisting and popping and taking on shapes, water filling in the cracks as molecules condensed and formed different states of matter. With a wave of their hands, God allowed the creation to choose itself how it formed and evolved. It first started with patches of blue-green slime in the waters, cyanobacteria. This strange, primitive life eventually mutated and became other forms of life. Trees, flowers, grass, fish, and so on. But it all started with blue-green.

When God was birthing his first children, the angels, he knew they would need companions to love throughout the ages. And so little orbs of frolicking love and laughter were born, beings of pure light that filled the angels with a sense of duty and affection. There were two in the beginning, the very first souls. A joined pair. They were green and blue, and when they combined, they shone with the most glorious colors God could have endowed. Their affection was so great, they multiplied, other colors spawning from their perfect joining. Red, yellow, green, and all the colors were born, the full spectrum of light and waves. But it all started with blue-green.

These two had a particular affection for Castiel, who took it upon itself to be their guardian and friend. The three celestial beings played chase and hide and seek in the murky depths of their new planet. The soul's love for God's creation spawned the first blue-green growth, and Castiel's love for them allowed the growth to flourish. Eons passed, epochs came and went, and life became gigantic and amazing. The two souls continued to grace the planet, breeding new life as they went along.

Castiel's fondest memory of the growing world was the fields of flowers. The souls decided they wished to be born, and so green became the grass and leaves and stems, blue became the vivid flowers that so complimented the rest. They always complimented each other where ever they went, whatever they became when they were born. But the field of flowers was Castiel's favorite.

Until one day a meteor struck, right at the heart of what would someday be called the Yucatan Peninsula. The majority of all life was wiped from the planet, and the three divine beings wept alongside God. But the grief was short, for God reminded them that it was the world's choice how it evolved. By choosing to be devastated, the Earth allowed room for the mammals to step out of hiding and take a turn with the reins. And so the grief became genuine interest. The apes finally stood on two legs and began painting pictures on the walls of caves. Words were formed, and Cro-Magnon was a wonderful poet.

The souls had never wished to be born more than ever now. So great was the want, all the other souls, the other colors and wavelengths wished to be born, too. And so God decreed that as the next step of evolution, all humans were to be born with souls.  
And so modern humans evolved, Cro-Magnon stepped down, and the soul bearing Sapiens stepped up, their ingenuity and creativity putting even God in awe. The first two born had blue eyes and green, Castiel was the mother that birthed them, always keeping them warm and safe.

In each lifetime on Earth, some souls grew to miss Heaven so much that they chose to not be reborn. Others, like blue and green, loved Earth as much as they loved God. Each time they returned, they eagerly awaited a time when they could be born again. Blue and green had an epic journey. It was the ultimate game of hide and seek. One would land, and the other would have to find them. Not once were they born where they could not find each other. A lot of that had to do with the help of Castiel. It was always their guardian. Their happiness was its happiness.

But now, in this current incarnation, green had waited too long, counted to 7 instead of 6, just to see what would happen. So, when green was born as a baby boy, he was too young to find blue for many, many years. Blue had already grown into a happy young man, had gotten married to a lovely young woman, and had born a brilliant glowing baby girl. Castiel had been surprised by this. Some of the other paired souls found others before they found each other, but never blue-green. They were almost always born in the same village, and rarely met later that their teens. Sometimes, their beings connected immediately and were born into the same body. Never once had either of them attempted to pair with another. And now both had. And all because green was being silly and counted to 7 instead of 6.

Castiel was able to find them both and bring them back together but was afraid that the time spent with others would sully their immortal bond. And so, it watched them from above for decades upon decades, for the better part of a century, making certain it wouldn't need to intervene or protect again. Their happiness was Castiel's happiness. But there was never any strife, or agitation. And when Castiel embrace blue-green again when they returned to Heaven, if anything they loved each other more. But blue and green had both agreed never to count to 7 instead of 6 ever again.

And so blue and green would always frolic through the celestial planes, or be born to Earth, but would never be separated for long. As it was from the beginning, so it will be to the end. And Castiel was glad. 

 


End file.
